


Forged in Fire

by SarcasticSmiler



Series: WinterFRE2018 [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Unrelated Fíli and Kíli, elemental!Kili, witch!Fili
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 02:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13471662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarcasticSmiler/pseuds/SarcasticSmiler
Summary: For Winter FRE 2018Prompt 45 - Witch AU





	Forged in Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a short, simple little one shot...not entirely sure what happened.

__Kíli gnawed on his lip as he looked up at the curving metal sign of the small, family run blacksmiths. Fingers fiddling with the wanted ad he’d torn out of the local paper, it was becoming a little singed around the edges thanks to his nerves.

Taking a deep breath, he shoved the scrap of paper into his pocket, and scraped his long hair into a bun to give some illusion of order, fixing it with the elastic hair tie slowly digging a groove into his wrist.

He needed to look somewhat presentable for this.

And yes, his boots may be scuffed, and his ripped skinny jeans had seen better days, and perhaps the cuffs of his baggy hoodie had more burn holes in them than he’d like to admit. But he was still confident he could get the job.

Though, in all fairness, he didn’t really have a choice to be anything _other_ than confident.

He _needed_ this job.

Desperately.

“You can do this,” he murmured. “You deserve this.”

With one last deep breath to steel his nerves, Kíli strode towards the door of the forge…only to jump back just as quick when it slammed open to reveal a sour looking woman in a garish outfit bustling out, followed by a plump man with anger flushed cheeks.

“Delusional! That’s what you are, Lobelia, if you think I’d _ever_ hire that son of yours!”

The woman, Lobelia, huffed, nose turning skywards and umbrella snapping out to whack Kíli’s ankle. With a barely suppressed yelp, Kíli flinched out of her way, before reaching down to rub his abused joint.

He quickly looked up, though, at the feeling of warm hands settling on his shoulders, “Oh, you poor lad, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Kíli smiled weakly, shaking out the remaining sting.

The plump man eyed him critically, his hands still resting on Kíli’s shoulders, “If you’re quite sure? I know Lobelia can give a rather solid whack with that umbrella of hers, dreadful woman, just dreadful. Why my cousin married her, I’ll never know.”

“Really, I’m fine,” Kíli tried again, still trying to process the man’s rapid stream of words.

“Good, splendid,” he smiled, giving Kíli’s shoulders a final reassuring squeeze before letting him go. “Now then, how can I help? I’m assuming you were actually heading for the shop and not just some random pedestrian Lobelia decided to take her anger out on?”

Barely resisting the urge to scuff his boot against the ground and fiddle with the hem of his hoodie, Kíli straightened his shoulders and tried to confidently state his reason for being there, though the unfortunate uplift in his tone made it more of a question than he really wanted it to be.

“Job?” the man frowned slightly, the small dip of his brows causing Kíli’s heart to plummet while a steadily growing ball of anxiety fluttered around in the empty space left behind. “Oh! The newspaper ad! I’m sorry, my lad, I had _completely_ forgotten about that, with everything going on it just _poof_ up and went like a wisp of smoke. But no matter, come in come in.”

Shooed through the door, Kíli barely got a glimpse of the forge before he found himself in an office and ushered into a comfortable, worn wooden chair in front on an old oak desk.

“Right,” the man settled himself behind the desk, before jumping right back up again. “Oh! Where are my manners! My father would be turning in his grave if he could see me now. I’m Bilbo Baggins.”

“Kíli Durin,” Kíli said, tentatively shaking Bilbo’s offered hand.

“Wonderful,” with a clap, Bilbo settled back into his chair. “Now then, you’re here for the job. So tell me lad, what are you?”

Kíli shifted in his seat, fingers fiddling with his cuffs, “Fire elemental.”

Bilbo frowned, “Fire elemental? Forgive me, but you don’t exactly _look_ like an elemental.”

Kíli couldn’t help the self-conscious twitch of his fingers, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind his rounded ear, “I-I’m only half really, on my father’s side. My mother was human.”

“A half-breed?” Bilbo’s brows rose at that. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen one of your ilk around here. I suppose the only question now is what’s your control like?”

“Good? I can maintain a constant flame, and vary it when needed to keep a certain temperature. I can even heat metal without the use of a fire.”

“Alright, but what would you say your control is like with smaller flames and softer metals?”

“It’s not as good as my larger fires,” Kíli answered honestly, forcibly tamping down his body’s natural reaction to shrug dismissively. “But I worked with a silversmith a few years ago and didn’t have any problems.”

Kíli tried his best not to start fidgeting again as Bilbo scrutinised him, the silence dragging almost to the point of being uncomfortable, before Bilbo sighed, “I think I like you, Kíli, and I’m willing to give you a chance.”

Kíli instantly perked up at those words, a chance was all he needed, all he wanted. He’d prove himself worthy of it.

“You’ll be working with my nephew, I’m getting too old to be keeping up with the odd hours he keeps,” Kíli nodded along, though he was confused as to why another fire elemental would need him to help. “I’ll give you two weeks, and then at the end we’ll see how you’re doing. If all’s well, then you’ve a job at Erebor Forge, if not, we’ll pay you for services rendered and send you on your way. Sound alright?”

Alright? It sounded better than just ‘alright’, it was everything he’d hoped for.

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

“Oh hush, none of this ‘sir’ business, call me Bilbo, or even Mr. Baggins if the informality makes you uncomfortable.”

“Thank you, Bilbo,” Kíli repeated, almost shyly.

“I’ve not introduced you to the metalsmiths yet, you might regret thanking me, lad,” Bilbo smiled, rising from the desk to straighten his golden yellow waistcoat. “Come on, I’ll show you around then we can sit down with a cuppa to fill out all the forms and get you a contract to sign.”

The difference between Bilbo’s office and the forge itself was rather stark. Bilbo’s space was all warm and worn woods, comforting and cosy. The forge was all metal and stone, gritty and harsh, the dark greys only serving to make the sparks and flames appear all the brighter.

Sunlight flooded the space from the open doors that seemed to span the length of the back wall, leading out to a fenced in back garden where a great oak tree grew in the far corner, sandbags hanging from its lowest branches.

As they watched, a dark-haired man swung into view, sword in hand as he sliced one of the sandbags clean through.

“Thorin!” Bilbo called, catching the attention of the man now scowling at the sharpened edge of the blade. Kíli almost shank back when that scowl was turned in their direction. The dark brows drawn down over piercing blue eyes made him want to apologise for everything he’d ever done wrong in his life. The expression remained for barely a few seconds before it cleared, like clouds parting on a sunny day, when his eyes landed on Bilbo.

Carefully setting down the sword, Thorin practically stalked his way to them, arm instantly slipping around Bilbo’s waist once he was close enough, and nuzzling a kiss to his pointed ear making Bilbo squeak and blush, swatting ineffectually at Thorin’s muscular chest.

“Oh behave!” he scolded.

“Never,” Thorin playfully growled, kissing Bilbo’s reddened cheek before turning to Kíli and holding out his hand. “Thorin Oakenshield.”

Not sure where to look as the older men acted like loved up teenagers, Kíli could only act on instinct and muscle memory as he shook Thorin’s calloused hand, too uncomfortable to register the slight tingle the brief skin contact produced, “Kíli Durin.”

“Nice to meet you. Can I assume you’re here for the job?”

“Yes, Mr. Oakenshield.”

“Thorin, please,” he said, nose twitching slightly in distaste. “Have you met Fíli yet? He’ll be the one you’ll be working with.”

“I thought it best to introduce him to you first, considering you’re the owner,” Bilbo pointed out, quirking an eyebrow at Thorin.

“Only in name,” Thorin scoffed. “I’m pretty sure you're the one who _actually_ owns it, love, I’m just your humble servant.”

“Servant? Maybe. Humble? Not a chance,” Bilbo snorted, pushing Thorin’s face away when he leant back in to sneak another kiss. “Where’s that nephew of ours holed up this time?”

“Upstairs in his workroom last I saw him.”

Pushing up on his toes to finally give Thorin the kiss he wanted, Bilbo shooed him back to his waiting sword, releasing Kíli from the awkward situation of trying not to watch his elders.

“The workrooms are this way,” Bilbo said, still smiling a little dopily as he led Kíli to a side door and the stairs beyond.

Thorin’s assumption was proven correct the moment they stepped foot on the landing as slightly muffled music filled the air.

“I swear that boy’ll go deaf one of these days having his music so loud,” Bilbo huffed.

Kíli smiled, trying to place the familiar music.

Was that?

No, surely not.

But…it was.

Kíli didn’t quite want to believe it, but now he’d placed it he couldn’t deny that he was walking down the corridor to the Imperial March from Star Wars.

He just hoped it wasn’t an omen for anything.

Pushing open one of the doors along the corridor, Bilbo ushered him into another sunlit room, the music rising to an almost deafening level.

“Fíli!” Bilbo shouted.

Kíli stared, mouth threatening to drop open, at the vision that startled and turned to them at Bilbo’s shout.

Blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.

Safety goggles that no one had any right to make look good pushed up on his head.

Bright, sky blue eyes.

Braided moustache capped with charm engraved silver beads.

Bare muscular arms, glistening slightly in the warm room.

Leather cuffs wrapped around thick wrists.

Broad hands carefully marking out a delicate design on the blade before him.

Muscular thighs barely encased in soft, ripped jeans.

“Any chance you could turn that off?” Bilbo asked, sounding like a long-suffering parent.

Kíli barely withheld a whimper when the blond reached up to the shelf above his workbench, tapping at the iPod there.

“What can I do for you, Uncle Bilbo?”

“We’ve had someone answer the ad your Uncle Thorin put in the paper, so Fíli, meet Kíli. And Kíli, meet Fíli.”

“Hi,” Kíli squeaked, giving an awkward little wave. Heat rising to his cheeks as blue, _so very blue_ , eyes raked over him before meeting his own.

“Hi,” Fíli answered, a confident smirk curling his lips and revealing an oh so tempting dimple, as he rose from his chair to offer a hand for Kíli to shake.

The moment their palms met, a tingle of awareness shot through him.

He wasn’t an elemental, as he’d earlier assumed.

He was a _witch_.

Kíli’s senses flared in understanding.

His element warmed in recognition.

_A Forge Witch._

Kíli’s body swayed towards Fíli without him realising, drawn to the magic thrumming in Fíli’s veins.

“Well,” Bilbo clapped, breaking the haze Kíli had found himself wrapped up in. “I think this just might work after all. Now then, Fíli, if you’d excuse us. Kíli and I have a pot of tea and some contracts waiting for our attention.”

“Yeah, of course, Uncle,” Fíli said, eyes still not leaving Kíli’s, hands still clasped.

“Come on then, lad,” Bilbo said, tugging at Kíli’s hoodie to draw him away.

Just before he followed Bilbo out the door, Kíli look back at Fíli, only to be met with a dimple inducing smile and a simple, “See ya later.”

Eyes dropping to those lips, Kíli knew that he was doomed.

Pining for a co-worker never ended well.

But he needed this job.

Following Bilbo down the corridor, he gnawed his lower lip almost to the point of breaking the flesh.

He had no choice but to endure.

But it wouldn’t be easy, especially with the way Fíli made his element burn.

-x-

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story actually started out as an original fiction piece that's part of multiple short stories for the world I've been building up in my head. They're all influenced by different 'what if's, this one came to be after I binged watched 'Forged in Fire' and started thinking about different castes of witches. Of course my original fiction works aren't really destined to be read by anyone other than me, so that leaves me with the option to switch out OCs with fandom people.  
> And this prompt offered the perfect opportunity to play with this particular idea.  
> The only thing you really need to know about this particular world is that it's your basic supernatural society hiding in plain sight, a secret that's not really a secret if you're willing to look.  
> I hope it isn't too shite, considering I'm doing my usual 'figure things out as I go, and post with a bare minimum of editing or proofreading'.


End file.
